


Locked Out

by readingtoujours



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Baz is angsty and in love with Simon, Baz is awkward too, M/M, Simon is awkward, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readingtoujours/pseuds/readingtoujours
Summary: Based on the prompt: Character A and character B live on the same dorm floor. Character A locks themself out in nothing but a towel. Repeatedly. Character B starts to keep a change of clothes character A’s size to change into when they’re locked out.AU in which Baz and Simon are both Normals who meet at university.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 80
Kudos: 245





	1. Chapter 1

It was his second week at university. Baz already hated it. 

It wasn’t that he hated getting a higher education. No, that part he was very much fond of. It was just that he felt as though he was surrounded by idiots no matter where he went. The dining hall chatter made him want to stab himself in the eye. His roommate, Dev, was tolerable, but Baz was worried that if he started to spend serious amounts of time with Dev he’d see his IQ drop. 

He was tired of having to avoid his hallmates’ overly friendly smiles every morning. He was tired of making small talk with whoever ended up sitting next to him in the lecture halls. He was tired of all of it… and it had only been two weeks. He spent most of his time sitting in his bed glowering at the walls. 

That’s what he was doing when he was interrupted by a knock on his door. He was sitting with his back against the wall, his legs crossed underneath him. He had headphones in, and he was listening to a playlist that Fiona had forced him to download. It was overly scream-y and loud, not the kind of thing that Baz would ever choose to listen to, but it did a good job of drowning out the noise from the hall. 

The knock was sharp, urgent. It cut through the music playing in Baz’s headphones, scaring him. He jerked up and off his bed. If it was Dev knocking because he forgot his keys again, Baz was going to bash in Dev’s head, then bash in his own. 

He swung the door open. It wasn’t Dev. It was a boy. A wet boy. 

Baz stared at him. His hair, a golden orange color, was soaking, dripping onto the floor. His skin was a creamy pink, and there was a towel wrapped around his waist. Baz tried not to notice the mole right above his belly button. And the mole right below his collarbone. And the collection of moles on his neck. 

The boy cleared his throat. Fuck. Baz had been staring too long. But then again, a small puddle was starting to form around the boy’s (adorable) feet, so perhaps Baz had the upper hand in terms of embarrassment. 

Baz yanked his headphones off of his head and slung them around his neck. “Hello,” he said, attempting normalcy.

“Hi,” the boy replied, staring at the floor in front of Baz’s feet.

“You knocked,” Baz reminded him with a sharp tone. The boy was painfully cute, but he was probably there to mock Baz or flash him or do some other version of a fucked up college prank, so Baz decided not to go easy on him.

“Yeah…” the boy said. Even though his face was pointing down, Baz could tell that he was blushing. Crowley, he was seriously cute.

“Well?” Baz asked. “Did you just knock to say hello? Because if so, hello. Next time you can drop by when you’re dry and clothed.”

Baz began closing the door, ready to push play on his music and sink back into his moping. The boy put his hand on the door. “Wait!”

Baz stopped closing the door. The boy’s hand was still on the door, which meant that it wasn’t holding his towel tight around his waist, which meant that the towel started slipping down, which meant that there was more skin for Baz to see… Baz averted his eyes. 

“Yes?” Baz asked, trying and failing to not sound exasperated. 

“Do you have a change of clothes that I could borrow? I've got class in, like, twenty minutes, but I was taking a shower and I realized that I forgot my key.” The boy looked like he was hoping that the ground would turn into a dragon and swallow him whole. 

Baz could sympathize with that look. He looked at the boy up and down, trying to tell whether or not there was a catch. 

Baz hadn’t told anyone at university that he was gay, partially because it wasn’t any of their business, and partially because he wasn’t sure how they’d take it. Even though the world had made a lot of strides, homophobia was far from eradicated. Baz had dealt with a good deal of intolerance from his father. While this showed him that he had the ability to handle it, it also gave him the acute desire to avoid it. A tiny part of his brain was wondering if this boy was sent by some meathead asshole as some sort of homosexuality test or something… 

The boy cleared his throat. The sound was wet with emotion, dripping with self-consciousness. Baz stepped back into his room and pulled the door open so that there was space for the boy to enter. He was doing it out of pity, he told himself. Because the boy looked desperate. And if the boy was pranking him, or doing something else utterly stupid, Baz could use it as an excuse to go home for good. 

This rationale wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t entirely the truth. There was a tiny sliver of Baz’s motivation dedicated to the fact that this boy was top tier cute. 

The boy, looking unsure, shuffled through the doorway until he was standing by the foot of Baz’s bed. Baz swung the door closed behind him. The boy flinched, which loosened up a big piece of pity from Baz’s chest, and made him immediately regret closing the door. Did the boy feel enclosed now? Had Baz crossed some unforeseen creepiness line?

“I can leave it open if you want. I just wanted to give you privacy from the people on the hall.”

“No, it’s fine,” the boy responded timidly. “It’s just… weird, that’s all. To be naked and dripping in someone else’s room.”

Baz was fully aware that he was dripping. He didn’t want to know that he was naked. Before he’d been able to tell himself that there was something under that towel, boxer shorts or something. Before, he could actively try to preserve his dignity. But the boy had swept that possibility off the table. Baz felt blood rushing to his cheeks and ears. He ducked his head and turned around so that he was leaning towards his dresser.

He reached for a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt that he never wore. He’d brought them with him to university just in case he ever needed clothes that he didn’t care about, in case he ever needed to tie dye or garden or do something else that he wouldn’t want to do in his usual silk and cashmere clothes. So far, the opportunity for those kinds of activities hadn’t arisen, and judging by his lack of friends, he didn’t think they ever would. Still, he thought, the clothes proved to come in handy.

He stuck them on a pile on the top of his dresser, then quickly debated in his head about whether or not to give the boy underwear. Was it weirder to make him go without it, to amplify the nakedness of this clearly already embarrassed stranger? Or was it worse to give him a pair of his own boxer shorts as though they were longtime buddies? 

The boy interrupted his debate. “Those are good. You don’t have to give me any underwear -- not that I, like, don’t wear underwear. It’s just that you’re being so nice to lend me any clothes at all. I don’t want to, uh, make you feel uncomfortable”

Baz smiled despite himself. This boy was not only top tier cute, but also polite and delightfully awkward…

Baz didn’t want to get ahead of himself, but perhaps university was shaping up to be better than anything Baz had initially imagined. 

He grabbed the pile of clothes off of his dresser and handed them to the boy, who refused to make eye contact with him. He looked down at the clothes, then back at Baz. He looked unsure. 

“Right, well. I guess you have to change in here,” Baz said, feeling his ears turn even redder, if that was even possible. “I’ll give you some privacy.” He stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him. He pulled it hard so that the boy would be able to hear the click of it shutting all the way. 

He was standing in the hall for a minute, long enough for doubts to start creeping in. What if the boy was part of some sort of messed up prank like Baz had originally assumed, and by allowing him to be alone in his room Baz had made himself vulnerable to something bad? What if he stole one of Baz’s things or vandalized his property? What would Baz do? Tell his father that it was a wet, naked boy in his room who’d done those things?

Crowley, Baz was an idiot for trusting a boy whose name he didn’t even know --

The door swung open. The boy emerged, wearing Baz’s clothes, looking slightly less wet but equally as flustered. His towel was draped over his arm, and his hair, which was no longer dripping, had clearly been roughly tousled with a towel. 

“Thanks for these,” the boy said. “Sorry about… everything.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Baz said, wondering why he was allowing himself to be so soft, why he told the boy not to be sorry and meant it. 

“My name is Simon, by the way,” the boy told Baz.

“Baz.”

“I’ll, er, give these back to you as soon as I don’t need them anymore -- and after I get the chance to wash them.”

Baz rotated around Simon so that he was standing in the doorway and Simon was standing in the hall. He nodded at Simon. He felt weird thanking him for offering to return them and wash them. He grabbed his headphones, which were still around his neck, and pushed them back onto his head. 

“See you around,” he told Simon, grabbing his phone to push play on his music.

“Yeah,” Simon said. “See you.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Baz got back to his room a few days later after class, there was a plastic bag dangling against the front of the door, its handles strung up on the doorknob. Baz pulled the bag open. In it were the clothes he’d lent to Simon. They were sloppily folded, but they smelled like detergent, so Baz could tell that Simon had washed them. There was an index card against the side of the bag. Baz pulled it out.

“Thanks,” was all it said. It was signed “Simon” in chicken scratch handwriting. Baz smiled to himself, then unlocked the door and pushed himself into his room. 

Dev was in there, sitting on his bed, eating a bag of chips with his mouth open. Baz nodded at him, then turned around and dumped out the returned clothes on his bed so that he could re-fold them. He was kind of particular about his creases. 

He crumpled the plastic bag and saved it to reuse later, but he slipped the index card into the top of his desk drawer. Him saving the paper had nothing to do with the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about Simon’s knobby toes, or his blushing cheeks, or his expressive eyes --

No, he saved the paper for business reasons. So that if anything ever happened -- Baz didn’t know what that “anything" could be, but it was a concern he felt was legitimate-- he’d have some sort of scientific evidence that he had in fact lent Simon clothes. Really. That was why he kept it. 

Or at least that was what he told himself. 

***

Baz was kneeling on the floor of his room, his arms deep into the space under his bed, feeling around for a shoe that was missing from its pair. He’d barely been at university for three weeks, and already his room was starting to feel cramped and unorganized. 

He was shoving a heavy box of extra toiletries to the side when there was a sharp knock on the door. If it was Dev, Baz swore to God, he’d suffocate him. But the knock didn’t sound like Dev -- it was tight, urgent. It almost sounded like… 

Baz didn’t dare let himself grow hopeful, especially since this hope would revolve around a boy he didn’t even know, who he’d met once because the boy had needed clothes and Baz had been an available resource. 

He didn’t let himself grow hopeful, but he did let himself hurry to the door a little too eagerly to be casual. He swung it open with fervor. Sure enough, standing in the hall opposite Baz was Simon, in all his wet glory. 

“Hello,” Simon said, looking at his feet. Baz looked at them too. They were just as cute as he remembered… Crowley, Baz was so fucked, and he’d only met this boy twice. He’d never even talked to him. He didn’t know anything about Simon. Except that he was, apparently, often terribly unprepared. 

“Simon,” Baz said, following the pretense Simon had constructed that everything was normal. “Thanks for returning the clothes the other day.” 

Simon’s hair was soaking, and just like last time, droplets were falling and forming a puddle on the rug around Simon’s feet.

“About the clothes…” Simon started, then trailed off. He swallowed, visibly attempting to gain confidence. “Could I, er, borrow them again -- or, or just, uh, borrow anything? I have class again in, uh, about half an hour and my roommate isn’t there and I’m locked out again.”

Of all of the fantasies that Baz had dreamt up about Simon -- and there was a pathetically large number of them -- he’d never once considered this, that Simon would come back soaking again and need to borrow Baz’s clothes. 

Baz said nothing, but went over to his dresser and pulled out the same pair of sweatpants and t-shirt that he’d given Simon last time. Again, he didn’t give Simon any underwear, and he actively forced himself not to focus on that, or even think about that. 

Simon was still standing there dripping in the hall, unwilling to let himself into Baz’s room without permission. Baz walked over to the doorway, and handed Simon the clothes while simultaneously nudging the door open with his hip as an invitation for Simon to come in.

Simon held the clothes in his arms and took Baz’s invitation to enter the room, all without making eye contact with Baz and without saying a word. Baz slipped out into the hallway and shut his door behind him just like he’d done the last time. He gave Simon room to change, and Simon took it, and Baz stared at the wet spot on the carpet and forced himself to think of anything but Simon drying off in his room… 

Simon pushed the door open and came out. His hair was ruffled just like last time, and he was considerably less wet. Baz took a second to look him up and down. Damn, his clothes really suited him. 

“Thanks again,” Simon said, once again staring at the floor. “I -- I’ll try to be more careful in the future. I’ll try to, uh, actually remember to bring my key. Or to bring a change of clothes into the bathroom. Or to do something so that I stop bothering you.”

Something about Simon’s words made disappointment bloom in Baz’s chest. Maybe it was the fact that Simon was the first interesting thing that had happened in his first few weeks at university. Maybe it was the fact that Baz got a small thrill from the fact that he was the hallmate who Simon had decided to trust. Whatever it was, Baz desperately wanted to find a way to make it so that it wouldn’t be the last time that Simon knocked on his door.

“Hey!” Baz said, startling both of them. “Sorry. Uh. Anyway. No need to thank me.”

Simon looked up sheepishly. They made eye contact. “You’re saving my ass,” Simon told him. “I very much do need to thank you. Look, if you ever need a favor, you can ask me. Actually, this is the second time I’ve borrowed your clothes -- I owe you two favors.” There was a tinge of amusement to his voice that hadn’t been there before. Baz felt himself slipping into a smile.

“What room are you in?” Baz asked. “Just, you know -- so that I can redeem your offer for two favors.”

Simon wasn’t making eye contact with Baz, but he had lifted his head and was staring at Baz’s chest so at least Baz got to see his face. It looked pink, and Baz couldn’t tell if it was pink with exhilaration (like he was sure his own must be) or with humiliation. Either way, it was a good look. 

“Three doors down. I live in 201.”

“Cool. Well, if you need me, you know where to find me.” Baz switched places with Simon so that he was standing in his room and Simon was standing in the hall.

“The same goes for you,” Simon said, beginning to turn away. “Thanks again.” He had his towel in his hand, and as he started walking away he threw it so that it was hanging over his shoulder. 

Baz smiled at Simon’s back, then retreated back into his room. He shut the door, then pulled out the index card from Simon that he’d saved in his top drawer -- the one he’d looked at hundreds of times since he’d gotten it -- and smiled even wider.

***

A few days later, a package arrived with Baz’s name on it. He knew what it was without needing to open it; it was the only thing he’d ordered from Amazon recently. He blacked out his name on the side, then wrote SIMON in heavy block letters. He left it in front of room 201.

Later that day, when he got back from class, there was another plastic bag hanging on his door. He peered inside. Predictably, his clothes were there, with the same clean smell and crappy folding job. His heart started to beat quickly as he shifted the clothes around to check for an index card. 

Sure enough, there was a card in there, wedged between the clothes and the bag. 

“Thanks again,” it said. “And sorry again.”

There were a few lines of empty space. “I got the package you left for me. (At least I’m assuming it was you.) A shower caddy with a key holder attached? Where did you even find that?” 

A few more lines were left empty. “Thanks for it, though. Hopefully I’ll actually use it. Simon.”

Baz read it, then read it again, then unlocked his door and stumbled into his room while reading it again. He dumped the clothes out onto his bed to re-fold, smiling like an idiot. Gently, to avoid any possible crinkling, he placed the index card in his drawer on top of the previous one. 

He looked at the two note cards sitting there in his drawer, and his smile got bigger.

If this was what his next few years were going to be like… 

Crowley, suddenly Baz didn’t hate the idea of university that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And thank you to everyone who left a comment on the last chapter -- they made my day! :)


	3. Chapter 3

Baz was sitting on his bed in the same spot where he always sat, listening to music and trying to drown out the rest of the world. He wasn’t hoping that Simon would come -- no, he certainly didn’t keep glancing at his doorway like he could summon Simon’s knock if he focused on it hard enough. 

But if Simon did come -- which again, Baz wasn’t anticipating or thinking about or anything -- Baz was prepared. The clothes that Simon had borrowed were at the very front of his top drawer, folded with extra care. Baz opened his drawer approximately twenty times a day to make sure that the clothes were still there. Not because he wanted Simon to come or anything. Just because, you know. Sometimes clothes mysteriously disappear from drawers in dorm rooms. Baz figured he couldn’t be too careful. 

It was a Friday, and the last time Simon had come had been a Monday, and the time before that had been a Wednesday. Baz knew that there were some classes for freshmen that ran every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. So if Simon were to come back, it wasn’t crazy to predict that today was going to be the day. It was so not crazy to predict, in fact, that Baz had put a little extra gel in his hair and chosen an extra nice shirt. 

Though who was he kidding -- he did that everyday now, especially because he had to pass Simon’s room to get to the exit of the hall, and there was always a chance that Simon was going to be leaving his room as Baz was walking by… 

Again, it was all about the fact that one could never be too prepared. Baz dressed as though he was going to see Simon all the time, so that if he actually saw Simon, he’d be prepared. Also because he thought that his nice clothes would maybe contain some sort of energy that would summon Simon’s presence…

Baz wondered if the label “desperate” had begun to apply to him. 

There he was, on a Friday afternoon, lounging on his bed, certainly not thinking about Simon or actively trying to summon Simon’s appearance, when sure enough, there was a knock on the door.

His knock was different than Baz remembered. It was sharp, direct. Simon knocked sort of the same way that Baz imagined a military officer would knock. Baz wondered, if he ever had the opportunity to knock on Simon’s door, how he would do it. Would he use two clean raps, like Simon, or would he invent his own pattern, something jazzy and cool, something that would totally catch Simon’s attention and make him like Baz as more than a friend? 

Crowley, Baz was certainly desperate. 

As he was considering this, how he’d knock on Simon’s door if the occasion ever arose, Baz realized he was smiling like an idiot. Also, he was standing right behind a door that Simon had just knocked on without opening it.

Flustered, he rushed over to the door and swung it open.

“Baz,” Simon said. “Hey. I got worried you weren’t here for a sec.”

“No, I’m always here,” Baz replied, then cringed at the fact that he’d admitted his lack of social life to Simon. 

Simon looked as mouth-watering as he’d looked the past two times he’d arrived. Baz knew that his face must have turned a fiery red. No matter how many times he thought about Simon, seeing him knocked all of the air out of Baz’s lungs. Both because he was embarrassed and because he was kinda sorta very much gone on this boy.

Crowley, Baz thought to himself. He really needed to get his act together. He knew nothing about Simon, absolutely nothing. For all he knew, Simon had a smoking hot boyfriend who was three years older than him and owned a Ferrari that he drove around with the top down while playing Simon’s favorite bands and feeding Simon expensive hors d’oeuvres. For all he knew, Simon had two smoking hot boyfriends, one of whom was French and the other of whom was Italian...

Actually, for all he knew, Simon was straight. Or just not crazy enough to go for someone as crazy as Baz. For all Baz knew… Baz knew very little.

Baz needed to get his act together. He’d always valued his dignity. He never thought his dignity would be swept away by a soaking wet boy with the worst sense of preparation Baz had ever seen. Live and learn, he supposed. 

“Can I, uh, you know. Same as last time,” Simon mumbled, staring at his feet. 

Baz ducked into his room and pulled the same set of clothes out of the drawer. He handed them to Simon, and as he placed the clothes in Simon’s hands, their fingers brushed. And, okay, Baz knew that fingers brushing didn’t actually mean anything. He knew that, when you handed someone something, there was a pretty good chance your hands were going to touch. But still -- 

Simon’s fingertips were warm. And soft. Sort of like his personality. 

Sort of like what Baz imagined his personality would be like, he corrected himself. Since he didn’t actually know Simon at all… 

“Thanks,” Simon muttered. 

“No prob,” Baz said. And oh God, what had given him the idea that it was socially acceptable to actually say the word ‘prob?’

Simon lifted his head for a second, and shot Baz a quick half smile, so quick that Baz almost missed it. Baz pushed past Simon to stand in the hallway, and Simon hesitantly entered Baz’s room, then shut the door behind him, and just like the past two times, he quickly changed while Baz waited in the hall.

“Get it together,” Baz scolded himself out loud. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He took a deep breath, then another, and then Simon pushed open the door, towel in hand, hair as infuriatingly cute as always, Baz’s clothes fully on.

Simon walked out of Baz’s room and stood across from him in the hall. “Thanks for letting me borrow your clothes… again. I promise at some point this year I’ll actually get my shit together. But until then -- thank you. Seriously. You’ve saved my ass three whole times now. Plus the gift you got me a couple of days ago…” Simon trailed off. His face was somewhat lifted, so Baz could see his cheeks, and -- oh my God, was he blushing?

“No problem,” Baz replied. He desperately wanted to find a way to communicate to Simon that Simon was definitely not doing anything wrong, that not only did Baz not mind helping him out but he actually looked forward to it. 

“Hey, uh, listen,” Baz began, rubbing the back of his neck. “The first few weeks of university… haven’t been the best. I mean, it’s been fine. I like my classes. But you know, big adjustment. Hard to make friends. So, seriously. I don’t mind. It’s been nice to, you know, feel wanted.” As soon as Baz said it, he regretted it. Because holy fuck, had he actually just told Simon that it was nice to feel wanted? As in, had he actually just implied that Simon wanted him? 

Christ, he was an idiot. A double idiot. Fuck fuck fuck. 

“Yeah,” Simon responded before Baz could plunge too far down into a spiral of self-hatred. “No, yeah. I get it. It, uh, hasn’t been the easiest few weeks for me either. I mean, obviously I’ve been having trouble staying organized.” Baz huffed a laugh. “But also just, you know. The stuff you said. Friends. So it’s been really nice to, uh, have your kindness and generosity the past few weeks. As a reminder that, you know, not everyone here is an arsehole.” 

Baz smiled at Simon, because, oh my God, he was gone gone gone, and he still didn’t even know this guy. This dorky, adorable, awkward guy who was apparently also having trouble adjusting and who apparently also thought that most of the people at university were arseholes and who thought of Baz as generous and kind. 

Simon smiled back, and for a split second, they made eye contact. 

Simon had nice eyes. Which really wasn’t the least bit surprising. 

“I should get going. I have class. But, uh, thanks again. See you around?” 

“Yeah,” Baz said, disappointed that their interaction was ending. “See ya.” 

He turned around and walked into his room, not staying in the hall to watch Simon go because his brain was starting to short circuit and his heart was pumping and he definitely needed a little time to have a full freak out about the perfection that was Simon and then calm down and remind himself that he didn’t even know Simon. Honestly, this had become a bit of a nighttime routine. 

He face-planted onto his bed, then let himself play his previous encounter with Simon over and over and over. Crowley, he could not wait for the folded clothes to arrive, for hopefully another index card to arrive, for hopefully another opportunity to speak with Simon. 

Baz had to consciously remind himself that it was only the third time that he’d actually seen the boy. Christ, he was out of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much for reading! The positive comments on the last chapter seriously made my day -- thank you to everyone who left one!


	4. Chapter 4

A few days after Simon’s last appearance at Baz’s door, Simon had, predictably, returned Baz’s shirt and pants. It was the same deal as it had been the last two times, the same plastic bag and sloppily folded clothes. Baz reached his hand inside without thinking twice, his heart pounding as his fingers fished around for an index card. 

They came up empty, and Baz could feel something inside of himself hurt, something buried deep in his chest, but then he checked in between two of the folds of his pant leg and found what he’d been looking for. He pulled it out.

“Thanks again. I owe you super big time. Simon.” Simon’s handwriting was crap, just like his clothes-folding, but the effect that his written words had on Baz was… embarrassingly strong. Baz’s face cracked into a full-on grin, and he pushed the door to his dorm open before placing the index card on top of the other two that he’d saved.

***

It had been a week and a half since the last time that Baz had seen Simon and one full week since he’d gotten Simon’s last note. He hadn’t seen him since. He tried not to get worried. He tried not to wonder where Simon was or how he was doing or whether or not he was using the gift that Baz got him.

Baz forced himself not to ask himself these things because, well, it wasn’t exactly like he’d known the answers to them when he had seen Simon. He’d never asked Simon how he was doing, or where he was going, or anything else. All that Baz knew about him was that he was terribly disorganized, terribly good looking, and terribly awkward. 

All of this not thinking about Simon meant that there was a lot of room in his head to fill with other stuff. It was ridiculous, actually, how much of Baz’s headspace Simon usually took up. 

Baz felt a bit stupid for being disappointed that Simon hadn’t shown up at his room in a while. After all, if Simon wasn’t showing up, it meant that he’d finally gotten it together. And shouldn’t Baz be happy that Simon had gotten it together -- considering how much he cared about Simon? 

He decided that he was a top tier fool. To develop a thing for someone he didn’t even know; to pin so much of his happiness at university on this boy whose appearances were directly linked to disorganization. Crowley, Baz needed a large drink and then a large bucket of ice water dumped on his head. 

He was sitting on his bed, his back pushed against the wall, a history textbook open on his leg. He had decided to dive full force into his classes because, well, that was why he was there -- to get a suitable education. Not to meet and then dream up a million different fictional scenarios with a boy. 

The history textbook that Baz had to use for his course was mind-numbingly boring. Baz usually was good at pushing through this kind of stuff, but he had trouble focusing on this textbook in particular. He kept reading the same paragraph over and over, trying to get the details to stick in his mind. Eventually he fell back into the worn out groove of staring at his door and trying to summon a knock.

But it had been over a week since Simon had last appeared -- twice as long as the amount of time that had passed between all of his other visits. Simon wasn’t going to appear, he sternly told himself. He absolutely was not --

Baz’s train of thought was cut off by a signature sharp knock on the door.

His heartbeat shot up. He could feel his blood pumping, could feel the veins in his ears pulsing with anticipation and nerves and -- okay he really needed to stop diving into thought spirals in between the time that Simon knocked and he opened the door. 

“Simon!” Baz said, unable to help himself as soon as the door was open.

“Baz,” Simon replied in the same low voice as always, staring at his feet. Baz looked at Simon’s feet too, and was surprised to find that Simon was wearing -- sneakers? He panned his face up, and looked at Simon entirely, and Simon was clothed. Which was both reassuring and confusing. Because now Baz didn’t need to employ his usual “don’t think about what’s under the towel” thought cycle. But he also didn’t know how to deal with this, a Simon who didn’t need something from him.

Baz had, of course, thought more than several times about what Simon liked to wear when he wasn’t wearing Baz’s clothes. Baz guessed that what he liked to wear was probably something that didn’t draw attention to himself considering how shy he always was. Lots of jeans, he figured. Medium wash jeans, but definitely without holes. Sweatshirts too, probably. Those classic solid color sweatshirts that had zippers running through the middle of them, pockets on the side, and only came in dark red, dark blue, and dark green.

Baz had been close. Simon’s outfit was much more chaotic than what he’d been imagining. He was wearing medium wash jeans with no holes -- Baz had been right about that -- but his top was a long sleeve shirt with a big dog printed on the front. The dog was wearing sunglasses. It looked like the kind of shirts that would be on a mannequin at GapKids. 

Baz kinda loved it.

Then he realized that he’d been staring at Simon for almost a full minute without saying anything. And he realized that Simon had been doing the same thing. They both seemed to realize this at the same time. Simon cleared his throat. Baz forced out a laugh. Then it was silent again; Baz smiled at Simon apologetically.

“So, Simon. I’m guessing… you don’t need to borrow my clothes this time?”

Simon laughed with a lot of breath in two punchy exhales. He offered no explanation. Baz realized it was his responsibility to keep digging.

“Well, do you need anything?” Baz was leaning on the doorframe like he was a character in some poorly executed movie about high school where all of the actors were thirty pretending to be teenagers. He changed his position, trying to pick something that was less cliche and douchey. He settled for lightly crossing his arms and moving slightly so that he was standing mostly in front of his doorway and out in the hall.

Simon was staring at his own sneakers. He pushed a hand through his hair. When he did, his curls reacted as though they were allergic to his skin, diving out of the way. When he put his arm back down, there was an obvious crease where the brush of his hand had just been. 

Baz had already lost it, but he lost it all over again.

“I thought about what you told me last time I, uh… came here.” They both knew why Simon had come to Baz’s room, but saying it out loud somehow broke some sort of unspoken agreement. It was too intimate to be said out loud, that Simon had repeatedly worn Baz’s clothes. So he didn’t mention it. 

“You said that, you know, university was hard. And I thought, Jesus, I’ve taken advantage of this guy, like, three times by showing up to his dorm literally soaking and asking him to help me. And it’s not like my life is exactly teeming with friends. So I came back to see… if you wanted to do something. You know. Become friends. Since we, uh, both could use one of those.” 

All of the breath that had been in Baz’s lungs, all of the chill (which was admittedly very little) that Baz had, all of the footing that he had on his life, slipped, and Baz could do nothing except gape at Simon with an expression that he imagined made him look awfully slow. 

It was hard to see Simon’s face, but Baz imagined that it was paling. Baz had to answer Simon, he realized. Crowley, he needed to stop getting lost in his thoughts at the actual worst possible times. 

“Wow,” Baz said, poorly summarizing how he felt. “Uh, that’s awesome.”

“Well… Are you free now?” Simon asked, sounding breathless. 

Baz looked back into his room at the textbook that was on his bed. The thought of going back to reading made him physically cringe. “Yes. Are you?” 

“Yeah,” Simon responded quietly. Baz grabbed his keys and wallet from the top of his dresser, shoved them into the back pocket of his jeans, and then turned to Simon.

“You ready?” Baz asked.

With a burst of confidence that Baz hadn’t yet seen in Simon before, Simon smirked. “Follow me,” he said mysteriously, turning around and waving for Baz to follow. 

“Lead the way,” Baz responded, pulling his door shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to figure out a creative way to say "thank you for reading" because I put it in all of my end notes and it's starting to lose its meaning. But seriously, I'm very grateful to everyone who has read this. And I'm super duper grateful to everyone who left a comment on the last chapter. :)


	5. Chapter 5

Simon took Baz to the coffee shop that was on the ground floor of one of the smaller university libraries. Everyone agreed that it was the nicest of all of the coffee shops on campus, but it was a bit of a trek from most of the buildings where classes were held, so it was usually pretty empty. 

It was not the place that Baz expected Simon to take him. During the walk to the coffee shop, Baz had been imagining different scenarios. He imagined something chaotic and adorable like a petting zoo. He didn’t think a boy who was consistently locked out of his room and therefore resorted to wearing a stranger’s clothes was the coffee shop type. University was teaching him a lot.

On their walk, the small talk they’d made had taught Baz a lot about Simon. Like the fact that he would never remember his key when he went anywhere if it weren’t for his best friend Penny. Penny kept his head together, he told Baz. He then proceeded to quote Penny every four seconds. It was weird. But as Baz got to know Simon, he realized that Simon was, well, weird. 

Baz didn’t want to use the L-word flippantly. But he kind of loved that about Simon.

He told Simon a little bit about himself, too. He mostly complained about Dev. He also told Simon about Fiona. “She sounds terrifying,” was all Simon responded.

It was nice, the rhythm that they fell into. It was comforting. Simon was the first person at university Baz had met who he felt like he could really talk to, and they hadn’t even been together for an hour. 

When they got to the coffee shop, Simon walked right over to the counter. There wasn’t a line.

He ordered the chocolate-caramel something something which Baz thought was basically a pound of sugar with a drop of coffee on the side. He quickly asked for a cold brew before the cashier could ring Simon up, then pulled out his wallet and paid for both of them before Simon could protest.

After the cashier handed Baz his receipt, Simon turned to Baz and narrowed his eyes.

“You didn’t have to pay,” he said, obviously embarrassed. “I’m the one who asked you to come here! Hey, how much was mine? Four something? I’ll pay you back.” He began digging in his pocket for his wallet, and then his eyes widened.

“Fuck,” he said. “I forgot my wallet back in my room…” 

Baz expected no less. He wasn’t sure if they were at the stage in their relationship yet where Baz was allowed to mock him, but he couldn’t hold in his laugh entirely; a small chuckle slipped out. Simon really was a disaster. 

Baz happened to absolutely adore disasters.

“Don’t worry about it,” he told Simon. “Seriously. It’s my treat.” And it was his treat. He would pay for a lobster dinner with steak and caviar and red wine if it meant getting to spend time with Simon outside of their awkward post-shower encounters. (It had been a while since he crossed the line of being “desperate.”)

“God, I owe you so many favors. I should pay for your coffee for the next, like, hundred years.” Simon was gesticulating madly; he was clearly angry with himself. 

“That would be overkill. I helped you, what, three times?” Baz knew that Simon was frustrated. But he was still amused.

It took a beat, but Simon finally realized that Baz really didn’t mind. He relaxed a little. They smiled at each other.

Simon led Baz to the corner where two armchairs formed an L-shape around a small table. They both sat down. Simon began blowing on his drink, making the whipped cream on top shift. (Seriously, there was whipped cream on top. Where did the universe find this boy, and how was Baz lucky enough to be the one at a cafe with him?)

“This place is so nice,” Baz said between sips of his cold brew. 

“Right?” Simon leaned back in his chair, and they drank in silence for a moment. 

Baz cleared his throat.

“Thanks for bringing me here. I was worried that you’d be bringing me some place weirder... For some reason a petting zoo came to mind.”

“Agh, I should have brought you to a petting zoo. I freaking love those places.” 

Baz’s heart, which had just been pumping normally, swelled until it filled his entire chest with heavy warmth. Simon was pure, and adorable, and sweet. It was almost painful. Baz didn’t know him that well, and yet he still felt like Simon was the best part of university. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing that he already felt that way, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I’ve never been to a petting zoo,” Baz admitted. “I used to be afraid of animals, so it was a waste for my parents. Now I’m too old…”

“Jesus, that’s a crime. That’s an honest-to-God tragedy.” 

Baz laughed. Simon laughed too. When Simon laughed, his eyes crinkled on the edges. 

Baz’s drink was cold, but he felt warm inside. So warm. Crowley.

He started telling Simon an anecdote about a dog he had when he was younger, and Simon responded with an even better story about a fish that he’d had, and they talked for two hours, then got drink refills, then talked for an hour more, and then went to get dinner together. 

And Baz? Well, Baz was… Baz was pretty fucking happy.

***

Baz was sitting on his bed, absent-mindedly scrolling through texts on his phone. He was waiting for a knock on his door from Simon, but it wasn’t supposed to come for another fifteen-or-so minutes. 

They were going on their first official date. It had been two weeks since the time that they went to the coffee shop together, and after spending time together every single day since, they decided that it was finally time for an official date.

Baz had spent an hour picking out an outfit. He finally settled on dark blue jeans and a white button down shirt with dark blue flowers. He had spent forty minutes making sure that all of his hairs were perfectly in place… Now all he had to do was wait for Simon.

There was a knock on his door. It was too early for it to be Simon, Baz thought.

He pushed himself off his bed, careful not to wrinkle his outfit, then swung open the door.

It was Simon. He was soaking wet. There was a puddle forming around his (still adorable) feet, and he was naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist…

“Are you kidding me?” Baz said, unsure whether to laugh or face palm. “Did you seriously lock yourself out of your room fifteen minutes before our first date? God, I’m gonna have to lend you something different this time. You can’t wear the sweats and t-shirt to the restaurant.” 

Simon looked at him sheepishly. “Sorry.” 

Baz turned around and started walking to his closet, mumbling about what a mess and an idiot Simon was. As he swung open the door to the closet, he felt a wet hand on his shoulder.

“Baz,” Simon said. Baz turned to face him. “Baz, I’m just kidding.” Simon opened up the fist that was closed around the top of his towel. In it was a key. Simon’s room key.

Baz didn’t know what to say.

“I’m not that stupid,” Simon said, though Baz wasn’t sure. “I wouldn’t forget my key at a time like this. I just thought it would be a funny tribute to, y’know, the totally weird way that we met.”

Baz still didn’t know what to say. Simon was standing there in front of him, soaking wet, in nothing but a towel, his key in his hand and a smile on his face that made it seem like he’d just won the lottery.

Baz couldn’t take it. The sight in front of him was so perfect it made his brain fizz out.

Without thinking, he put his hands on Simon’s cheeks, tugged Simon’s face towards his, and kissed him. Simon kissed him back. His mouth was warm, just like Baz always thought it would be. 

Baz’s heart, which grew every time he spent a second with Simon, got so big that it touched the tips of Baz’s fingers and the ends of Baz’s toes. He felt warm and heavy with his love for Simon. He felt warm and heavy with happiness. He felt good. Everything was good. 

“You’re the worst,” Baz told Simon as soon as they’d pulled away from each other. 

They both got their breath back, and then went in for another kiss. 

When they pulled back a second time, Baz looked up at Simon. “You’re the best,” he told him. And Crowley did he mean it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh it's over! I really loved writing this fic. 
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who read this far. And again, to all the amazing people who have been commenting -- thank you thank you! :) <3


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